


itch

by sidetone



Series: Entityswap!Martin [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bugs & Insects, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Corruption Avatar Martin Blackwood, Major Illness, Parasites, Trypophobia, entityswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24713263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidetone/pseuds/sidetone
Summary: Jane Prentiss is dead, and the Corruption wants a new host.
Series: Entityswap!Martin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786783
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	itch

Martin absentmindedly scratched the back of his neck as he hunched over his desk, squinting down at the files he’d gathered, researching the most recent statement Jon had looked into. It had only been a few days back into work after the Prentiss attack, but to be honest, he was finding it hard to concentrate. He’d been feeling a bit unwell ever since the whole ordeal, slightly but constantly nauseous- he couldn’t even stand up or eat without his stomach lurching and making him feel like he was going to hurl. 

Still, he was trying his best despite it. After all, he wanted to show Jon he was a hard worker, and… Well, even if it wasn’t his fault, he’d taken weeks off while trapped in his apartment by Jane Prentiss. He was hoping making up for that lost time would get him on Jon’s good side, at the very least… He hardly noticed that he’d been scratching his neck so hard it had begun to bleed as he kept reading, skin and blood under his nails as he continued to itch. 

The itching and nausea was easy enough to hide, easy enough to deal with. He wasn’t eating a lot, sure, but that just meant he had nothing to throw up, and as for the scratching… he could just cover up whatever marks he’d left with bandages or long sleeves. Easy. No reason to quit working. No reason to disappoint Jon. The next week, however, was when things started to really spiral out of control. His hands shook as he tried to type, just another day of research but it felt nearly impossible when he was trembling and his head was pounding. He had an awful fever, a sore throat, a dry mouth, dry eyes, rashes all across his body, and the _**itching**_ and _**nausea**_ \- He tried to go on, though, he really did. 

There was a knock on his door. He tried to answer, but he was thrown into a coughing fit the moment his voice tried to leave his throat. Tim came into the room without waiting for an actual answer, his brows furrowed in concern as he approached his desk. His coughing stopped just as he did, and he honestly half expected there to be blood on his sleeve when he pulled it away. There wasn’t, thankfully, but he didn’t have time to think about it as he looked back up at his coworker, trying desperately to act like he was fine.

“Ahem… Um, d-did you need something, Tim?” He asked, his voice hoarse and wavering. His attempt to act like nothing was wrong was to no avail, however, as Tim sighed, frowning deepening.

“You know what this is about, Martin.” He stated bluntly, crossing his arms and looking him over. “Jesus christ, you look even worse than when I last saw you… Come on, just go home. Take the rest of the week off. You can’t work like this- even Jon is starting to worry, and that’s not something that happens often.” 

“Y-you worry too much… It’s fine, really. I-I’ve been getting work done, haven’t I?” He insisted, but Tim wasn’t hearing any of it, just looking exasperated as he spoke. He could tell the other was about to speak again, and Martin tried to interrupt, but the moment he opened his mouth he felt his stomach lurch, and he quickly clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Wh- Martin, what’s wrong? Are you-” He cut himself off as he watched Martin frantically grab the trash bin and wretch into it, cringing at the sound of wet chunks hitting plastic. Well, that answered his question for him. He reluctantly drew closer to place a comforting hand on his back, trying his best not to gag himself at the whole situation. 

“You done?” Tim asked after a moment of silence, and he pulled Martin out of his chair as soon as he nodded, clearly not taking no for an answer this time. “Come on, let’s go. I’m driving you home.” 

“I-I can just walk-”

“You’re not walking _anywhere_ like this, for god's sake.” He hardly gave him the chance to speak as he dragged him out of the office and out to the parking lot, bidding Sasha a quick farewell as they left. As soon as they were in Tim’s car he reached into the backseat and handed Martin a plastic bag. “Just in case. I’d really prefer if my seats remained barf-less.”

He was silent the whole way home, nervously fidgeting and scratching at his skin, unable to relax. After all, though he was sure it was just a trick his paranoid mind was playing on him, he could’ve sworn he saw something moving among the half-digested food… 

It was only a matter of minutes before Martin found himself alone in his apartment again, a place he’d been trying to avoid since being trapped there for so long. He leaned against the closed door for a moment and sighed, closing his eyes. Tim was right, but still, he couldn’t help but feel bad… Maybe he’d feel better if he got some rest. The sooner he felt better, the sooner he could go back to work, or just… Go anywhere that wasn’t his own home, really. He was feeling pretty exhausted, anyways… He managed to stumble his way over to the couch, his entire body feeling heavy as he practically collapsed onto it- and just like that, he was out like a light.

\--- 

Martin wasn’t sure how long he’d been awake or how long he’d been lying there. It felt like days, drifting in and out of consciousness. The logical part of his mind was screaming at him to get up, to call the hospital, to do anything but just lie here in pain- But he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t move. He had tried to call someone at some point, but his phone had inexplicably died. He wasn’t even conscious enough to be annoyed.

Finally, after what could’ve been days of just lying and suffering, what compelled him to finally crawl to the bathroom was an overwhelming nausea. It was a miracle he made it to the toilet before he vomited. It burned his throat, tears stinging his eyes as his stomach emptied itself. Still, despite his dazed state, he had to wonder… What exactly could he be throwing up? He hadn’t eaten in days, or however long it had been since Tim dropped him off, and this was clearly more than just stomach acid… At least the nausea in his gut was gone for now.

It was with a morbid curiosity that he got up to turn the bathroom light on and looked to see what had come out of him. He really wished he hadn’t looked. His eyes shot wide open at the sight of the thousands of writhing forms in the toilet bowl, stumbling backwards and hitting the wall behind him with a loud thud. No sound came out of his ruined throat as he tried to scream, covering his mouth in utter horror. 

_Oh, god, what was happening to him-?!_

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind at once - _Being burrowed into, hollowed out, the holes covering Jane Prentiss’ body_ \- When the hell did this happen? When did a worm find its way inside him? _Was he going to die…? Or even worse, was he just going to have to keep living like this?_

 _He needed to get out of here, he needed to get **help**_ \- But more worms found their way up his throat and he threw up again on the floor before he could do anything, leaving him staring in terror at the squirming things that had been inside him moments ago. **He needed to kill them.** Every fiber of his being was telling him to pound his fist into them, stomp on them, _anything_ to just get rid of them, but… Somehow, he couldn’t raise a finger to them. All he could do was watch them twist on the bathroom tile. 

He scrambled out of the bathroom the moment he snapped out of the strange trance he was in, knowing he had to get help fast, but he became more exhausted with every step he took. He hadn’t eaten in days, and even before then he’d hardly been eating due to the nausea… He wasn’t going to get out of the building at this rate. He needed to eat something first. His legs were beginning to feel like lead as he made his way to the small kitchen, reaching for the bowl of fruit he had out, only to feel it go soft in his hand.

_**Rotten. Completely and utterly rotten.** _

He knew that couldn’t be right, there was no way they could’ve gone bad so fast, but there was no way around it. Some of them were even starting to mold. He felt his desperation growing as he flung the fridge open, only to find that it seemed to have been turned off for days, and everything there had gone completely bad. It was gone. _It was all fucking gone._

The smell was absolutely putrid, but that was the least of his concerns. He fell to his knees as despair overtook him, his stomach growling so loud the sound seemed to fill his entire apartment. All he could do was cry as he felt an intense pain in his gut, his vision blurring with tears until he was gone again, unconscious in front of his open fridge.

\--- 

He felt completely numb when he next awoke, his senses dulled as he slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was his hand, and the small white worm crawling on it. His mind felt so fuzzy that he hardly registered it at first, and when he did he still didn’t move. He couldn’t think. Instead of thoughts there was just a soft humming in his skull, and despite there being no words he somehow knew what it meant, what the hive was trying to tell him as he watched the worm on his hand with glazed over eyes.

_You are beautiful,_ it tells him. _You would make a perfect home, a beautiful home. You could be a caretaker, care for thousands._ He’s somehow comforted by the thought as the buzzing continues, watching the worm start to burrow into his flesh. He doesn’t make any move to stop it. _You could love and be loved back. That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? To be appreciated for the care you give. You’ll be part of something. You’ll be loved. You’ll be accepted and cherished as you are._

Martin can see the worm moving under his skin, but it doesn’t hurt, not anymore. He can feel its love. He can feel its appreciation for a warm place to live, for flesh to consume. Not just that worm, but soon he can feel it all over, the _writhing_ and the _burrowing_ and the **love.**

He finally has the energy to get up, filled with a newfound strength. For the first time in his life he felt truly and wholly loved, and he began to love the parasites right back. He would take good care of them, he would be a safe place for them to stay. _He would be their home._

\---

He returned to work soon thereafter, though he had to be careful to cover up the holes that were beginning to dot his skin. Apparently the entire time he’d been stuck at home Jon had been receiving more texts about taking days off that he didn’t remember sending, but he was thankful for it now. He was still sick, but he didn’t feel bad now that he’d accepted it. He felt rather good about it, actually, even when mold and fungus started to sprout from where the rashes had previously been. Attempting to pull any of it out of him just resulted in tearing off his skin with it, or even a chunk of flesh that would reveal the mess of worms and roots his insides had become, so he opted not to mess with it. He could be a home to fungus, too. The more he could care for the merrier. 

Still, the fungus didn’t make hiding his condition any easier, eventually having to wear a turtleneck to hide the shelf mushrooms sprouting from his neck, not to mention his coworkers were quick to catch wise to the fact he was still ill. Tim in particular was pushy about it, and his constant refusal of his suggestions to see a doctor or take some medicine was starting to make him even more aggressive about it, such was the case one afternoon in the office.

“For god's sake Martin, look at yourself! You’ve been sick for over a month now, this is clearly more than just the goddamn flu!” Tim was starting to raise his voice, getting increasingly frustrated. “Go to a fucking doctor, or I’m going to drag you there myself!”

Martin paled at that, knowing he was dead serious. “Tim, you don’t understand, I-”

He didn’t wait for him to finish, just grabbing his arm and pulling him out of his chair again. There was a sense of utter determination behind his actions, and it almost made Martin feel cared about. Almost. “Screw it, we’re going. Come on, let’s-” In an instant, all the color drained from Tim’s face as he jerked away from Martin, his eyes wide with shock.

Martin knew what had happened. He felt the worm in his skin move under Tim’s hand. He could see the look on Tim’s face as he finally began to notice all the odd bumps under his sweater, and he wanted to hurry and run away before Tim found out anything more, but his path was blocked. There was no way out as the other stepped towards him, his back pressed against the wall as his sleeve was forced up his arm.

It was easy to see how disgusted and alarmed Tim was to see the mushrooms and moss planted in his skin, holes with worms writhing inside. He just stared for a moment, petrified, before backing away, a long silence between them before he finally spoke.

“What the fuck, M-Martin, you…” He stammered, a rare fear in his voice as he spoke. “Why didn’t you tell anyone-?! W-we could’ve helped you before you… B-before you got like this! I’m not fucking around, you’d better start explaining yourself _right now.”_

Martin took a deep breath, pulling his sleeve back down. “I-I… I’m going to sound crazy, b-but listen to me, okay?” He started, desperate for Tim to understand as he explained the situation. “I think I… I must’ve gotten a worm when Prentiss attacked and not noticed, a-and that’s why I was feeling so s-sick, and then… After you brought me home, it… The hive, the humming, it was… In my head. It spoke to me, a-and I understood it, and… The hive gave me a chance at being loved, y-you see. The hive let me become a home and nurture and be loved back for it, and-”

“You’re completely out of your goddamn mind.” Tim cut him off, backing away towards the door. “You’ve lost it, Martin. You’ve fucking lost it. You think it loves you? You think it can love? Look at yourself! It’s just using you to spread its disease, and you fell for it!”

“You don’t know that.” He muttered quietly, looking down as a worm crawled out from under his sleeve. He couldn’t help smiling a little to himself. _“They do love me, Tim.”_

Those were the last words spoken between the two of them before he left the room- off to tell Jon or Elias or maybe even the police, he assumed. He couldn’t stay here much longer, not just for his sake, but for the safety of the hive. All he could hear was the humming in his skull as he made his way out of the building. He didn’t know where he was going yet, but he just kept walking, wanting to get as far away as possible. He had to find somewhere safe for them.

He didn’t know where he was going, he didn’t know how he could try to keep living like this, but he didn’t care. He felt whole. He felt needed. The buzzing drowned out any sensible thought left in his brain as he just kept walking, his only thought being to get as far away from the institute’s reach as he could. 

Jon and the others would catch up to him eventually, kill them just like they killed Prentiss, but… _**For now, maybe he would share the love he had with others.**_

**Author's Note:**

> yes i wrote this all in one night and got no sleep bc of it, yes i'm turning this into a whole series of martin becoming an avatar of various entities, we fucking exist!!


End file.
